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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25624783">Se Défiler</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/klytae/pseuds/klytaemnestra'>klytaemnestra (klytae)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Midgar Blues - A Collection of Shinra Noir [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:28:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,808</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25624783</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/klytae/pseuds/klytaemnestra</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>They walk along the beach. Rufus takes pictures of the palm trees, the way the light plays against the ocean and the dunes. Memories for when he’s back in Junon, he says, though he dare take none of Tseng, of them together. They will have to commit those to ephemeral images alone.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rufus Shinra/Tseng</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Midgar Blues - A Collection of Shinra Noir [8]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1915873</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>83</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Se Défiler</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sun is halfway across the eastern sky when Tseng arrives in Junon. It’s been 3 weeks since he has last been here, and the phone calls recently have not been enough. Whatever this thing is between him and the Vice President of Shinra he knows for certain he's definitely in lust with him. The how and why of that lust being something much more complex he chooses not to dwell on, only that ever since he resumed his physical relationship with Rufus Shinra, he feels as if a man obsessed.</p><p> </p><p>It is an emotion that wars with his own rationale, his own desire for order, and easily managed, maintainable personal affairs. The thrill of each moment he slips away from Midgar, on the President’s orders no less, to then spend the next few days drawing cries and words of absolute filth from the man he’s been assigned to watch. There’s a danger to it, one that heightens each time he holds Rufus against the wall, or bends him across his desk and drives into him until they’re both left breathless. Their time in Midgar had been fraught with trepidation, secrecy, and the constant fear of discovery. An order from Veld, or the President himself to end it, or perhaps worse. But now, there is no one here to dictate to him the protocol and ethics of quite thoroughly fucking his boss’s only legitimate son.</p><p> </p><p>He knocks once, still maintaining that aspect of professionalism between them, before swiping his keycard and entering the apartment.</p><p> </p><p>Rufus emerges from the bedroom a moment later, his customary businesslike attire eschewed for what Tseng can only deduce is some sort of resort wear the President’s son must have purchased solely for this holiday, sunglasses perched atop his head as he fusses with a wrist watch, some more finery he has recently acquired, the leather of the band still stiff.</p><p> </p><p>‘If you will, Sir.’ Tseng offers, taking Rufus’ wrist in his hand and deftly sliding leather through fine mythril. The slightly wicked smile upon Rufus’ lips does not go unnoticed. He is far from helpless, deadly with a firearm, and skilled in some moderate hand to hand, but Tseng knows Rufus enjoys being fussed over, made to feel special during his confinement, and  he is ever willing to indulge his lover.</p><p> </p><p>‘I trust you’re ready?’ The helicopter is being refueled, their flight trajectory finalized.</p><p> </p><p>Rufus makes a flippant gesture toward the bedroom where his bags are. ‘A guard will be here in a minute.’</p><p> </p><p>Tseng raises a dark eyebrow in suspicion of how much Rufus is planning to bring. ‘I hardly think you’ll need more luggage than the two of us can carry, Sir.’ He leans in closer, hand settling on the curve of Rufus’ ass concealed beneath crepey designer fabric. ‘I was rather hoping you’d prefer to spend our holiday in the nude.’</p><p> </p><p>‘If you keep that up, I’m going to suck your cock before we land in Costa.’</p><p> </p><p>The words send an ache of longing hot and low in his groin. ‘Is that a threat, Sir?’ He watches as Rufus moves close enough until their lips are barely touching.</p><p> </p><p>‘A promise.’</p><p> </p><p>It’s to be a month away from Junon on the sunny shores of Costa del Sol. A private getaway, just the two of them. Tseng has been very effective in weaving a story to the President of how his son’s confinement has done him well, that all signs of malcontent have given way to quiet obedience, even if he knows the way Rufus plots still. He pretends he doesn’t notice the way a few hundred thousand gil goes missing from tertiary corporate accounts, nor the way Rufus rarely speaks of his father in any way less than murderously. But Rufus’ supposed good behaviour has earned him the reprieve of a long holiday. Tseng intends to make the very most of it.</p><p> </p><p>Rufus keeps his promise, mid-flight somewhere over the ocean. It is a test of Tseng’s skills as a pilot as Rufus pulls off his sunglasses and leans across the cockpit, mindful of the controls as he reaches out and slowly tugs down the zipper on dark trousers. ‘You’re going to make us crash, Sir.’</p><p> </p><p>Tseng feels Rufus smile against the head of his cock. ‘I trust you to stay in control.’ Rufus purrs, his tongue flicking out to taste. ‘Isn’t that what you like. Control?’</p><p> </p><p>Tseng settles into his seat and draws in a shuddering breath as he feels Rufus’ mouth close around his length, resists the urge to thrust down that throat, until the Vice President is choking, knows the way he pushes him each time, goading Tseng into being just a little rougher. It’s a strange type of control for Rufus, too. The power he one day will wield, the surrender and submission he offers, wishing to be fucked and choked and degraded because he trusts Tseng solely to take him to the very edge, unmake him, and then put him back together. He chooses to allow Tseng alone to have this.</p><p> </p><p>One hand still on the controls, Tseng threads gloved fingers into strands of blonde, pulling hard enough to sting. It makes Rufus run his tongue along the underside of his cock before moving forward to take him deeper into his throat. Tseng glances down at his lover, breath even, deep, as he tries to maintain some semblance of control, considering all the lurid news stories were he to accidentally plummet them 750 meters into the ocean below. <em> Shinra heir found dead with bodyguard’s cock in mouth. </em> He laughs a little at the morbidity of it all, turning his attention back to the controls as he feels Rufus begin to increase his rhythm, and rocks his hips upward. ‘Shiva, you’re going to get us killed.’</p><p> </p><p>Rufus makes a soft hum as if in reply, unrelenting, as Tseng tightens his grip on Rufus’ head, shoving him forward onto his cock as his vision goes momentarily too bright, heat flooding into his lover’s mouth as he nearly shouts his release behind gritted teeth.</p><p> </p><p>Rufus pulls away with a moan, one perfectly manicured fingertip brushing against the corner of his mouth as he tucks Tseng’s softening cock into his trousers, and settles into his seat, designer sunglasses back in place. A flush creeps along his cheeks, and when Tseng reaches over to grope at his crotch, he’s hard. ‘Touch yourself.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I thought you were worried about the distraction.’ Rufus laughs, shifting in his seat, decidedly ignoring Tseng’s request as if he isn’t ready to burst, focusing on the tiny silhouette of the resort town coming into view on the watery horizon. Reaches for his camera and takes a few shots as they near Costa del Sol.</p><p> </p><p>The Shinra Villa set along the coastline had been a wedding gift for Rufus’ late mother, a haven away from the public eye where actress could relax and unwind, cast off her duties as celebrity and wife to the most powerful man in the world, and simply be Thora. Rufus’ father had not visited it in years, always vowing to sell the place for the right price, but Rufus finds it to be the ideal summer getaway, with its secluded private beach, and sheltering palms.</p><p> </p><p>They settle into their accommodations. Separate rooms for appearance’s sake. The onsite staff consists of only a groundskeeper and housekeeper, but Tseng has insisted that they stand on some form of protocol. Rufus finds a certain thrill to it all, the prospect of sneaking about to one another's bedroom, knowing just which tile covered floor boards on the upper landing creak, how to best steal a kiss within an alcove. Which he does, the moment they’re alone. Rufus leans in close, bare hand coiling around Tseng’s silken necktie as he pulls him in. ‘I need your mouth on my cock in 15 minutes.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Sir.’</p><p> </p><p>Rufus is stretched languidly across a chaise on the expansive terrace outside his room, slacks undone, a glass of verano in one hand, savouring the way the bubbles play against his tongue. ‘You’re still in your suit.’ He looks up at Tseng from behind designer sunglasses.</p><p> </p><p>‘Would you prefer I take it off?’</p><p> </p><p>Rufus pauses as if to consider this, the thought of Tseng naked in the warm sunlight. ‘Not yet.’</p><p> </p><p>‘What would you like, Sir?’ Tseng purrs. Rufus watches as he crosses the space between them, settling on the edge of the chaise. A gloved hand slides along his inner thigh, moving higher. A gasp escapes parted lips as a warm leather encased hand slips inside, gripping his length.</p><p> </p><p>‘Fuck. Please.’ It’s been 2 hours since their inflight interlude, and Rufus can no longer contain himself as he thrusts into Tseng’s touch, breath hitching as Tseng leans forward and mouths the shape of his cock through thin fabric. Rufus takes another sip of his drink, ice rattling against the glass as he tries to maintain his composure, and watches as his lover withdraws his cock, hard and heavy and straining. ‘Tseng.’ The word is barely more than breathing as Tseng’s mouth closes around him. He twines fingers into strands of dark hair, eyes fluttering shut, and thrusts, moaning as Tseng takes him in deeper.</p><p> </p><p>Often Rufus is on the giving end, reveling in making the Turk come undone with his mouth in an equal display of submission and control, allowing Tseng to fuck his mouth while also wickedly employing skills that nearly will unmake Tseng. But here, Rufus is laid out before him, breath coming in short gasps as he feels himself sliding down his lover’s throat, Tseng’s hands holding his hips down when he tries to thrust, controlling their pace, and the means of Rufus’ release. ‘Fuck, gods. Tseng, please.’</p><p> </p><p>Tseng begins to move then, dragging his mouth along Rufus’ length, upwards to curl his tongue around the head before once more swallowing him. He makes no sound, not even the softest of moans or sighs as he establishes a steady rhythm, and Rufus knows he enjoys this, the calm collectedness while making his lover writhe and sob out sounds of pleasure.</p><p> </p><p>Rufus cries out when Tseng abruptly pulls away, the summer breeze cool against the damp heated flesh. And then Tseng is lifting him, leather gloves discarded, stripping him of his trousers to expose pale slim hips, watches as Tseng undoes his own, taking his cock in hand, his weight bearing down over him as he presses himself against Rufus, fingers wrapping around them both.</p><p> </p><p>‘I’d fuck you if I thought you’d last long enough.’</p><p> </p><p>The glass slips from Rufus’ fingers, hitting the tile bare inches beneath with a muffled thump, both hands now gripping at Tseng’s ass, driving their cocks together. The mounting friction is too much, sending Rufus over the edge, keening high in his throat as he comes across Tseng’s hands. He is still trembling and gasping when Tseng lifts himself onto his knees, cock brushing against parted lips as one hand moves to cup the back of Rufus’ head. He releases hot into his lover’s waiting mouth, moaning at the sight of it before moving down to capture his lips in his own, tongues tangling together as they sigh in shared breaths. Rufus is smiling when he at last withdraws his tongue from Tseng’s mouth, giving the Turk a look that is positively feral.</p><p> </p><p>‘Looks like you’ll need to lose that suit.’</p><p> </p><p>20 minutes later, Rufus is poolside wearing a pair of swim trunks and an open shirt that leave very little to the imagination. Tseng somehow has the ability to look imposing even in more suitable clothing for their locale, Rufus insisting that he relax, enjoy the sun, unwind. There’s no need for a bodyguard here. Rufus tilts his head back, enjoying the way the sunlight feels against his skin. ‘It suits you.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I do know how to dress outside of a suit, Sir.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Rufus.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Do you want me to call you that?’</p><p> </p><p>‘I want you to relax. I want you to fuck me, and sit by the pool with me, and drink cocktails, and let me suck your cock. Is that too much to ask?’</p><p> </p><p>For most couples, no. For them, he tries to think of the scenarios were someone to catch a glimpse of them here together.</p><p> </p><p>‘I want my lover, you. Just for now.’</p><p> </p><p>Tseng seems to consider this. It’s been months since they were away together, not since the New Year, and for all of Junon’s familiarity and discretion, Rufus is genuinely wanting to have a good time, looking more relaxed than he has in months. Tseng finds himself reminded of Rufus in those early weeks when this thing between them was new and exploratory, the young heir’s soft private smiles from across boardroom tables, before the betrayal, the loss, the hurt, and regret.</p><p> </p><p>‘It is difficult sometimes to set aside protocol.’</p><p> </p><p>“Difficult, or unadvised?’ Rufus stretches to reach the cocktail at his side. ‘It’s just us. An entire month. No Midgar. No Shinra.’ The taste of lime and dark sugar and alcohol slips into his mouth. ‘No protocol.’</p><p> </p><p>Tseng settles beside him, plucking the drink from Rufus’ hand and taking a long sip. ‘Then, I suggest you make us another drink.’</p><p> </p><p>Rufus does, then another, the two spending the midday basking in the summer sun before finally sliding into cool water to refresh themselves. Rufus swims to the opposite of the pool and back before pulling Tseng close and kissing him, lips tasting of saltwater and sunshine.</p><p> </p><p>They walk along the beach. Rufus takes pictures of the palm trees, the way the light plays against the ocean and the dunes. Memories for when he’s back in Junon, he says, though he dare take none of Tseng, of them together. They will have to commit those  to ephemeral images alone.</p><p><br/>
Rufus retires back to his room some time later to rest. Showered and clad in little more than pyjama bottoms, he finds his way to Tseng’s room. Stretching out across the bed as he listens to the sound of Tseng showering, waiting as the late afternoon breeze wafts through the open terrace doors, fluttering gossamer curtains and lulling him into a light sleep. He wakes a short while later to the feel of Tseng running his hands along finely muscled shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>‘I didn’t mean to wake you, but I couldn’t resist.’</p><p> </p><p>‘How long have I been out?’</p><p> </p><p>‘20 minutes, maybe less.’</p><p> </p><p>Rufus curls against him, breathing in the scent of his lover, sandalwood and musk, and makes a soft sound as though he were a lazy cat. Tseng’s lips brush against strands of gold, his hands sliding lower along his spine.</p><p> </p><p>‘We could stay here forever.’ Rufus murmurs after a while, nuzzling into the line of Tseng’s neck, enjoying the soft scrape of stubble when he brushes his nose against his lover’s chin.</p><p> </p><p>‘Until your father noticed.’</p><p> </p><p>Rufus makes a sound, shifting to rest his head against Tseng’s bare chest. ‘Don’t ruin the moment.’ He presses lips to a faded scar along his shoulder. ‘You could resign, then who would care.’</p><p> </p><p>Tseng kneads the flesh at the base of Rufus’ spine, hands slipping occasionally beneath the waistband of his pyjamas to cup the curve of his ass, accepting that no matter how much Rufus Shinra tries to pretend that they could share a life together, it is impossible. One does not simply resign from the Turks. The few who have ever lived long enough had never fully freed themselves from their duty, those less fortunate like Valentine simply disappeared. The only time he can promise Rufus is now when their future seems so uncertain. A mission gone awry, a slip, mistake. Sleeping with the Vice President has its own potentially fatal consequences.</p><p> </p><p>‘I’m afraid those in my line of work don’t have that luxury.’ Tseng admits. Rufus should know that, but then so much of what happens behind locked doors, and research facilities, in the dark alleyways topside, and beneath the plate are lost on him, never given the opportunity to understand that corporation he one day will rule.</p><p> </p><p>‘One day. When it’s mine.’ To this, Tseng says nothing. There is no guarantee this thing between them will last, no matter the attraction, the strange lingering emotion he feels when they’re together this way. Rufus props himself up, looks at Tseng then beneath a fall of blonde hair. ‘Are we in love?’</p><p> </p><p>‘I don’t know.’ Yes, fundamentally, Tseng thinks this must be what love feels like, but it’s an emotion he’s buried for so long, and the last time he allowed himself to dare to feel anything aside from pure physical need, Rufus had nearly destroyed them both with his treachery.</p><p> </p><p>‘Do you want to be?’</p><p> </p><p>‘No.’ Tseng half expects Rufus to make a scene, to storm out of the room, instead he just stares as if processing his lover’s words. It’s neither denial nor admission. ‘Do you?’</p><p> </p><p>‘It wouldn’t matter if I did.’</p><p> </p><p>It’s a lie. Tseng can see it in the way Rufus tosses his hair from his eyes, the way his breath seems to stutter just ever so slightly. Watches as Rufus sits up, raking a hand through light strands, and for the briefest of moments he looks lost, like that young boy mourning his mother splashed across all the tabloids, and newspapers.</p><p> </p><p>Tseng catches his wrist as Rufus slides from the bed. ‘I didn’t say I wasn’t.’ He will wonder later if it is enough.</p><p> </p><p>They dine together at some tapas place on the beach, elegantly appointed white table cloths, and lit torches, the soft strains of acoustic guitar. Tseng watches the way Rufus drinks. A cocktail before dinner as the sun dips low in the sky, setting their surroundings aflame in shades of pink and orange. By the time the full moon has risen just above the watery horizon, dipping them into a silvery tinged darkness, Rufus is on his second glass of wine. He’s coping in the only way he knows how, drowning his emotional wants in alcohol.</p><p> </p><p>Tseng spares a quick glance around and reaches to take Rufus’ hand in his own. ‘You must know I do care for you.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Do you? I thought I was just a distraction.’</p><p> </p><p>‘People in my position.’ Tseng begins, looking for the right words and finding them failing.</p><p> </p><p>‘Spies.’ Rufus corrects, taking another sip of his wine.</p><p> </p><p>‘Rufus.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Assassins, killers. What would you prefer? I’m being fucked by someone my father pays to kill people he considers a threat.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Do you think I could possibly--’</p><p> </p><p>‘No.’ Of course he could never, not now, not with everything between them.</p><p> </p><p>‘I killed the part of myself that ever wanted anything more when I joined the Turks.’ He thinks to the meaningless fucks, the pretty whores, the one night stands where he rarely even knew their real name, even fewer had ever known his. And then. He looks at Rufus through the flickering firelight. ‘I never expected you.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Hn, I suppose it does complicate things.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I wanted you. Maybe longer than I care to admit. You weren’t the only one with an infatuation, Sir.’ The boardroom meetings where Rufus had given him smiles and looks while Heidegger or Palmer droned on too long about something of no interest. He thinks of the time they had first kissed. Rufus fumbling and inexperienced, but his mouth had been sweet as he’d twined his hands into Tseng’s jacket lapels. And finally getting Rufus alone, fucking him while they stared out over the skyline, promises of <em> one day </em> falling from Rufus’ lips between cries. Tseng has never believed it, not for lack of Rufus’ conviction, only that one day rarely happens for one such as he.</p><p> </p><p>Later when they’re back at the villa, Rufus refuses to go to his room. He’s more drunk than he lets on, but he’s kissing Tseng while they stand on the landing, leg already curling around his, begging him to fuck him.</p><p> </p><p>Tseng does, stripping Rufus of every designer stitch of clothing, weight bearing down upon him as Rufus looks on gasping and crying out sounds of pleasure that Tseng knows will awaken the groundskeeper, but he finds he cannot bring himself to care, not with the way those blue eyes stare up at him, mouth parted, moaning, begging Tseng for more. He fucks Rufus with an intensity, and when the words slip out from bite swollen lips, ‘I love you.’ Tseng knows with certainty that Rufus has stripped him of all his defenses, laid him bare, made him vulnerable. He captures Rufus’ mouth in his own, and wishes he might find the courage to say it back.</p><p> </p><p>They lay there together in the aftermath, Tseng holding his lover close, listening to the sound of his breath, feeling the beat of his heart. In the morning he suspects Rufus will remember only that they have made love together, but it fills him with an ache that for all their years together he has been so very blind to the emotions Rufus has tried to show. The subtle gestures, the meals he would make for them, the terrible coffee, the small gifts, all a substitution for those three words.</p><p> </p><p>He thinks to the betrayal. The thing that nearly ripped them apart, and wonders had he told Rufus his feelings then, where they might be. He pulls the covers around them, Rufus too exhausted to shower at this time, and holds him close.</p><p> </p><p>Tseng awakens sometime later with a start, groping blindly in the darkness for Rufus, and finds him gone. He lays there, staring at the ceiling, and thinking of the dream that had awoken him. Rufus bleeding in his arms, crimson flowing from his lips, as a Shinra standard peacemaker slipped from blood slick hands. He rises from the bed, pulling on his pyjama pants, and rushes out onto the landing.</p><p> </p><p>Rufus’ door is shut, when he tries the handle it is locked. He rests his head against the door. ‘Rufus.’ He knocks twice, louder than intended, and waits.</p><p> </p><p>2 minutes later, Rufus emerges from the room, robe hanging haphazardly off his lithe frame, eyes bleary. ‘Tseng?’</p><p> </p><p>‘I woke and you were gone.’</p><p> </p><p>‘You were the one who wanted separate rooms.’</p><p> </p><p>Tseng backs Rufus inside the room, closing the door behind him. He looks at Rufus there in the pale moonlight. ‘Sit with me.’</p><p> </p><p>Rufus leads him outside onto the terrace. The sky above is a vision of starlight, the constellations bright, and sky so very dark the band of the galaxy is visible. They settle against the chaise, Rufus’ head pillowed against Tseng’s chest as they lay side by side staring up at the heavens.</p><p> </p><p>After a while, Rufus speaks. ‘The stars used to frighten me. The unknown beyond, the inexorable force of the universe.’ He reaches a hand out as if to catch a falling star streaking across the night sky. ‘I used to tell my father the threat would be from the skies.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Did he listen?’</p><p> </p><p>‘No, never. Not even when I was a child.’ Tseng wraps his hands around Rufus’.</p><p> </p><p>‘Then he’s a fool.’</p><p> </p><p>Rufus leans back, watches another shooting star, and wonders.</p><p> </p><p>They take breakfast on the veranda the following morning. Coffee and pastries, a tray of exotic fruits. There’s chilled champagne, though Rufus seems disinclined to indulge. If he remembers his words the previous night, he’s made no indication of such. Though, Tseng suspects, he might be avoiding that topic now that he is sober.</p><p> </p><p>‘I want to go shopping.’ Rufus announces as he drops a single cube of sugar into his coffee. Tseng is no stranger to the Vice President’s fashion acquisitions, knows of the expensive designer boutiques dotted amid luxury hotels and upscale bars. He also is acutely aware of the way Rufus shops to cope with things that he’d otherwise prefer to remain unresolved, and Tseng can only deduce he’s the cause of today’s particular outing.</p><p> </p><p>While Tseng enjoys he share of luxury goods, as well as occasionally surprising Rufus with small gifts, he’s never quite developed a penchant for spending money the way his lover does. He does it in part to spite his father, blowing through hundreds of thousands of gil in designer clothing. Interesting for a man rarely in the public eye. He’s made no official appearances since a charity gala some 3 months prior, and even then he’d barely stayed long enough to be seen. Tseng remembers the reprimand that came with it. The newspapers reporting how the cold and disdainful Shinra heir had left without a solitary word. The President’s voice a near scream over the phone at how he would lock him up forever if he was no use for PR. Rufus had said nothing in protest, but he’d slipped away into his room with a bottle of cognac and locked the door.</p><p> </p><p>‘I’ll drive you.’</p><p> </p><p>The Shinra Coeurlregina Type-0 is a custom prototype, another gift to the late Theodora Shinra. Rufus’ mother had possessed his same affinity, the luxury sports coupe a cool matte white with matching leather interior. It had been bequeathed to Rufus on his sixteenth birthday, incentive to learn to drive. Over a decade later, he still prefers the security of being chauffeured around, not that Tseng can complain as he runs gloved hands along the leather wrapped steering wheel.</p><p> </p><p>‘Where would you like to go, Sir?’</p><p> </p><p>It’s a short drive up the coastline to town. Rufus stares out the open window, hair tousled by the breeze, and sighs. ‘Just drive.’</p><p> </p><p>Tseng does, along the rocky coast, past resorts, and villas, expensive shops, until civilization fades into the rearview mirror, behind a hill, and disappears. Rufus says nothing as the car speeds along the winding two lane road, the horizon golden in the morning sun. ‘Where are you taking me?’ Rufus voices after some time. He’s never been this far from the villa, having never had reason to venture out before.</p><p> </p><p>‘There’s somewhere I think you’ll like, Sir.’ Tseng smiles then, and turns. ‘Rufus.’ He pulls off a few miles later at a secluded cove, opens the passenger door, and offers his lover his hand.</p><p> </p><p>‘What is this place?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Cala de Sirena.’ The ocean sprawls before them, the water a glittering shade of mako tinged blue set against a rocky shoreline and white sand. ‘Would you care to go for a swim?’</p><p> </p><p>‘We hardly brought anything to--’ Blue eyes narrow, knowing exactly Tseng’s intention. He strips out of his clothing, discarding them in a rumpled drape of white along the fine leather seat, before racing toward the water, Tseng in pursuit.</p><p> </p><p>They fall together in the waves, hands tangled in wet strands of hair, and smoothing over muscles. Rufus throws his arms around Tseng’s shoulders, their kisses tasting like salt and sunshine. They walk along the rocks, unconcerned about discovery.</p><p> </p><p>‘There are wrecks just off the cove.’ Tseng begins. ‘When I first was stationed under Veld, we did dive training here.’</p><p> </p><p>‘So this is Shinra property?’ Rufus asks, staring out across the water, acutely aware of how very little he still knows about the corporation he one day will inherit.</p><p> </p><p>‘Sixty percent of the coastline is. But no one uses this place any longer.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Just us.’ The crease in Rufus’ brow has nothing to do with the way the sunlight hovers blinding above. ‘Why did they stop?’</p><p> </p><p>‘There was an incident a few months later.’ A new recruit. Tseng had considered them something of a friend, perhaps more, young, beautiful, blonde. It had been a training accident, their oxygen tank had malfunctioned while inside the wreckage of an old shipping tanker. They had simply never made it out.</p><p> </p><p>‘You were close?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Not particularly.’ It’s not an untruth, though he wonders what it might have been to have found a companion of equal rank, knowledge, and life experiences. He turns to Rufus, naked and still glistening with drops of saltwater, studies his profile, and accepts that there is no time for what ifs, only that he has this moment.</p><p> </p><p>‘They say sirens sing the faithless to their watery deaths here.’</p><p> </p><p>Rufus laughs softly. ‘Should I be worried?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Should I?’</p><p> </p><p>Rufus dives from the rocks a moment later into the warm crystal waters. Tseng follows. And as they swim together, Tseng knows that however fleeting and ephemeral these moments may be, they have become his singular want.</p><p> </p><p>They dust off what sand they can, Rufus complaining about the need of a shower as they dress. He finds a local radio station, and closes his eyes as Tseng drives them back to town.</p><p> </p><p>Later that night, Rufus sits outside on the back veranda, listening to soft music against the roar of the waves, watching lightning playing across the night sky. He’s sipping on a fortified wine from the nearby hills when Tseng finds him. Rufus pours him a glass without asking, and settles back into his chair.</p><p> </p><p>‘I thought you were resting.’</p><p> </p><p>‘No, it was too quiet inside.’ For someone so accustomed to the sounds of the shipyard, and the unending cacophony of noise within Midgar, Costa del Sol is eerily quiet in a way that when alone in that expansive villa it is almost unsettling.</p><p> </p><p>‘How’s the wine?’ Tseng asks before taking a sip.</p><p> </p><p>‘Not bad.’ It’s a 70 year frasqueira left forgotten in the cellar, the cork has gone a little off, but the flavour is dry and tasting of almonds. Typical of his father to let such things fall into a state of forgotten decay.</p><p> </p><p>Tseng moves across the terrace to the stereo, sorting through the old vinyl. Operas, showtunes, jazz. All ghosts left behind by the woman who had been Rufus’ mother.</p><p> </p><p>The first strains of a tango. Rufus looks up. ‘If you would indulge me.’</p><p> </p><p>The smile Rufus gives is skeptical. ‘You can’t be--’</p><p> </p><p>‘I know you had ballroom lessons. And a Turk’s training isn’t complete without being adept in many things.’</p><p> </p><p>Rufus takes his hand, allowing Tseng to pull him close. They’re both out of practice, but their bodies know one another with such a familiarity that the movements come easily, twisting together, hands running along shoulders, sides, the length of one another’s legs. And then they’re kissing, Rufus pressed against a column as Tseng works a thigh between his. The crash of thunder offshore startles Rufus, who abruptly pulls away from the kiss with a laugh as the heavens open up around them. ‘I think we’ve pissed off Ramuh with our dancing.’ They kiss again, as the wind begins to gale, rain pelting against the tiles just beyond their covered shelter.</p><p> </p><p>The violin music plays above the storm, as they dance on against the mounting tempest, unconcerned.</p><p> </p><p>The skies are pristine the following day, all the lingering clouds have been blown out to sea. They lounge poolside as Rufus talks about the future, Midgar, and then, as always, them. At one time Tseng supposes he had been a true believer in the fabled Promised Land, the future of Shinra. The years have left him jaded. There is no Shinra save his Turks and the man stretched out beside him, skin glowing in the midday sun. He stays only because he knows nothing else, he cares for nothing else, and when Rufus muses about a normal life, Tseng laughs. What is normal, he thinks. To be born, live, and die, to marry, leave a legacy, to hope that one's life might have had purpose. <em> Normal </em> is not afforded to those such as he, and Rufus is extraordinary, not only because of his wealth and privilege, but his cunning, his sheer determination, the ability to persist no matter the setbacks. He will be a formidable leader if given the time to learn, to mature, and when Rufus pulls him down into a kiss, he knows with certainty that this thing he feels is not only lust, or need, or want, or duty.</p><p> </p><p>They fall together, Rufus laughing as his hands tangle into dark strands of hair. Tseng strips him of his swim shorts, freeing his cock from his own. Kisses a line alone Rufus’ inner thigh, tasting faintly of sunscreen and salt. He probes at his entrance with slick fingers, teasingly, before bracing one leg against his shoulder and sinking inside with a low groan. The pace begins languid, like this lazy afternoon, Rufus moaning softly with each slow thrust, eyes closed, one hand above his head grasping at a decorative pillow, lip bitten between his teeth as if to contain the sounds he’s making.</p><p> </p><p>Tseng begins to thrust a bit more forcefully. Rufus is never one for tenderness, preferring to be left clawing bloody furrows into Tseng’s shoulders while coming undone on his cock. He sinks deeper still, and by the ragged sound that comes from Rufus’ mouth he knows he’s found the angle that will make him come. He shifts, and begins to fuck his lover in earnest, each movement drawing cries from parted lips. He knows some of it is for show, Rufus likes to be loud, to talk dirty, to scream and sob while his cock is deep inside, but he also knows the tells, the movements that are just a little too intense, the ones that nearly unmake Rufus, where he’s left shuddering and limp in the aftermath.</p><p> </p><p>Looking at Rufus there before him, there is nothing about their relationship that will ever not be hiding away in the shadows, the stolen kisses, the private holidays away from prying eyes. Even when Rufus one day ascends to his rightful place as President of Shinra, they will never have a life beyond this. It will have to be enough, it must be enough.</p><p> </p><p>Rufus cries his name when he comes, and the sound of it alone is nearly enough to push him over the edge, movements suddenly erratic as he chases down his own release. There is tenderness then, Rufus kissing him, and holding him, and sighing soft words he never speaks except when he’s fucked out and Tseng understands with a terrible fierceness that this thing between them, as imperfect, unsought, damaged, and ephemeral, is love.</p><p> </p><p>Tseng says nothing, only kisses Rufus, holding him close as he feels the laughter and unguarded happiness radiate off him.</p><p> </p><p>Later, he watches as Rufus stands against the early evening light, hair tousled, looking so completely at ease that Tseng finds he cannot help himself. He snaps a quick photo with Rufus’ camera, left forgotten, before the Vice President can notice. And when Rufus turns to him, Tseng reaches out to take his hand in his own, fingertips linger against the soft faint scarring along his wrist. He takes a breath. ‘I apologize for not saying it back.’</p><p> </p><p>‘You don’t need to.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Is this enough?’</p><p> </p><p>Rufus looks back to the horizon, the uncertainty beyond. ‘It has to be.’</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<em>fin</em><br/>
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